A Breath of Fresh Air
by Liale
Summary: Nine-year-old Sam Winchester gets himself lost. Dean is frantic.  A Weechester drabble.


**Disclaimer: I hope you all realize that I do not own Supernatural. **

"SAM!" Dean cried. "SAMMY!"

The thirteen-year-old Winchester was just about ready to pull his hair out. His dad had been gone for three days on a hunt, with clear orders for the brothers not to leave the motel room for any reason. But Dean and Sam had both been climbing the walls, and at each others' throats. How could they not be? They were children! They needed a breath of fresh air!

Thinking there couldn't be any danger, as long as they were together, Dean had sprung them from the hotel room, taking a bouncing, nine-year-old Sammy to a local carnival. As soon as they'd arrived, Dean could tell it had been the right choice. Sammy's bright, innocent eyes took in the dazzling lights dancing along the Ferris wheel, tilt-a-whirl, and all of the rides in colorful, rapid-speed patterns. His little ears pricked up at the sounds of music, the calls of carnies, and the hustle and bustle and chattering of the people around them. He tilted his head back, lifting his nose to the tantalizing smells of fried dough and corn dogs and pretzels and other delicious, greasy carnival treats.

All in all, the excitement really seemed to be doing the child some good. Sam looked happier, livelier, than Dean had seen him since they're first set up camp at this new motel. His dad could be as angry as he wanted, Dean had thought, as long as Sammy was happy.

But now Dean wasn't so sure.

One moment, Sam had been clutching Dean's hand, right by his side, and the next, Dean had turned away to buy a cotton candy, and Sam's hand had disappeared. The little boy had been swept away by the crowd.

And Dean couldn't find him.

"SAMMY!" Dean cried again. "Sammy, where are you? Damn it!"

Dean was frantic. He couldn't lose Sam! He'd pulled his brother from a burning building, for Christ's sake! He'd saved his life, for what? To lose him at a _carnival_?

The older Winchester ran as fast as he could, weaving through throngs of people. He felt rage toward the families around him, enjoying their time together at the carnival, reveling in their happiness and normalcy, all of them completely oblivious to Dean's distress. Couldn't they see that something was wrong? Sammy was missing! Dean cursed all of the ignorant people surrounding him as he ran. He continued to call out his little brother's name, screaming as loudly and fiercely as he could. He screamed so loudly that his throat stung. And finally, his screaming paid off.

"Dee?" he heard.

It was faint. Faint and scared, and Dean knew it was Sam. He froze in his tracks. "Sammy? I heard you, Sam!"

"Dee!" came the child's voice again, more urgent.

Dean whirled to the right and took a few steps. There! He spotted the mop of unruly brown hair, the beat up sneakers, and the hand-me-down jacket. "Sammy!" he gasped, crouching beside the boy, who was sitting on his butt next to a corn dog stand, looking very lost indeed. Dean's relief, for a moment was powerful and obvious, until it turned to frustration. "Jesus, Sam, why'd you run off like that?"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam replied, his lower lip sticking out in a pout that was equally pathetic and adorable. "I didn't mean to get lost. Really, I didn't."

"I told you to stay with me, Sam!" Dean snapped, his concern for his little brother's welfare fueling his irritation. Sam sniffled, wiping a hand under his eyes. Dean sighed. "Geeze, all right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. I was just worried about you, Sammy. You all right?"

Sam looked up at him, eyes huge. "I fell down," he said, and Dean's gaze drifted for the first time to the boy's scraped up knees and dirty palms. "My ankle hurts," Sam added.

Dean nodded and took Sam's foot gently in his hands. He pulled down his sock and carefully applied pressure to his ankle, earning him a wince and a quiet hiss. He looked up to see Sammy with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. "Looks like you sprained it a bit," Dean said. "Come on." Easily, he scooped up his brother, settling him on his hip like a toddler. Sam's arms snaked around Dean's neck to provide security and balance. "Let's go back to the motel room and get some ice for your ankle."

Sam nodded, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. His mouth cracked open to release a wide yawn. "All right, Dee. I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it, Sammy," Dean said. "You're just a dumb kid. It happens. Did you have fun?"

Sam smiled sleepily. "Yeah."

Dean didn't care if his father got mad, or that he would probably have to listen to Sam whine about his ankle for the next week. It really didn't matter, as long as Sammy was happy.


End file.
